


The Whitechapel Murderer

by orphan_account



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-08-29 14:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Human AU - In Victorian London, Detective Inspector Hamato races to apprehend the so-called Ripper before he destroys everything Leonardo holds dear.Comments and constructive critique welcome!





	1. The Ten Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? Follow me on [Tumblr](https://freakshowfemme.tumblr.com)

Fog hung thickly in the air. It rolled against the windows of the public house like a foamy head of beer. Late summer warmth lingered in daylight hours, but chills creeped in as the sun fell. Dense clouds of mist formed over the harbor and snaked through the city, casting an eerie white shadow tshrough the streets of Whitechapel.

Raphael didn’t care about the fog. He didn’t even notice it unless he was staring at the window and he had no reason to do so. Not with Annie at his elbow, fluttering her kohl-stained lashes at a drunkard. Shadow, his best friend Casey’s teenage daughter, sat at his other elbow.

“Y’sure ar’ lucky,” Casey mused as he poured another beer for Raphael. He slid it across the bar top with a smile. “Two be’utiful ladies wit’ ya, y’dog.”

Raphael only grinned, gripping the mug of beer and taking a long slug. Annie was a friend, a colleague of sorts, nothing more. And Shadow?

“’Ey, g’fuck yerself in the arse, y’miserable git!” The blonde woman screeched, slopping beer down her front with a gregarious wave of her arm.

Shadow wasn’t his type. She’d been practically raised in The Ten Bells and it showed. She could hold her own against anyone who stumbled inside her father’s pub and drank with the best–or worst–of them. Those qualities would typically fall squarely into his type, but Shadow was missing a few essential elements to attract Raphael. One in particular. Not to mention she was just 16 and Raphael was in his late 20s. Not a huge distance–he’d had clients far more senior than their wives than that–but it was a good excuse whenever she drunkenly wondered why he never hit on her like the other regulars.

“Respect m’self too much to shag this tosser’s kid,” he’d declare and Shadow would laugh and laugh while her father feigned insult.

Tonight, however, Shadow hadn’t asked. Neither had Annie, though she never did. It was one of the reasons they worked the pub so harmoniously–they each had a starkly different clientele.

Men approached Annie far more often than Raphael. She’d smile, flirt professionally, and leave with them if the mood was right and the offer good. Raphael wished her well, not envying the unwashed miscreants she sometimes accepted. It wasn’t that he was an elitist; he’d probably accept those men too, if they’d approached him. Hell, he’d accept the right woman if she offered, though that had yet to happen.

The type of men who sought Raphael’s service were typically of a different breed. Otherwise unseen in the East End, well dressed businessmen and politicians slinked in the back way of the Ten Bells, whispering their illicit desires in Raphael’s ear. The other distinction was the amount of abuse Raphael was willing and able to take. He was a large, strong man and he could take almost anything a client was inclined to dole out. And so sadists and rich twats–who had a peculiar habit of being one in the same–came to see Raph.

He charged more than Annie, mostly because he could. There were far fewer men working the streets of London. Most were young boys, children of broken homes or poverty. They had their own clientele too, though it made Raphael’s nose wrinkle with disgust. When men wanted little boys, they found them. When they wanted men, they came to Raphael.

No one had come knocking at the back door that night–at least not yet–and so Raphael sucked on his beer between Annie and Shadow. He was in no rush. There was plenty of money stashed in the heavy crimson urn near his fireplace to cover his room for months. Even so, it was hard to keep his golden eyes from roving. He turned over each potential customer in his mind, either flat out rejecting them or filing them away for further consideration. The raggedy wino was immediately disqualified, because Raphael could smell him from across the bar. His maybe pile consisted of a sailor he’d seen a few times before and the Fidgety Man.

The Fidgety Man had been sitting near the door when Raphael entered. Nearly an hour later, he was still nursing the same beer. Even now and again he’d bring it to his lips and take the tiniest sip. As he did, Raphael swore he saw the man’s eyes scanning the room, examining every patron in much the same way Raph did.

“Hey,” Raph whispered, leaning over the counter. “I think Brown Eyes by the door is a copper.”

Casey looked up from wiping the counter to squint at Fidgety Man, then shrugged. “So?”

Rolling his eyes, Raphael cocked his head to inconspicuously observe Fidgety Man. Hands white as the London fog toyed with his half-empty beer. He was well dressed but his clothes were perfunctory, designed to serve their purpose and nothing more. Silky black hair fell against his ears and into his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Though he tried to act casual, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable in the pub.

“Exotic, huh?” Casey teased, watching Raphael watch Fidgety Man.

“Shut up,” Raph grumbled.

Exotic was his clients’ word of choice. He’d had it whispered in his ear a thousand times. A drunken businessman would kiss Raph’s dark caramel muscles, fist a hand in his long mane of tight, black curls, peer into his flashing golden eyes, then finally murmur the dreaded words: You’re so exotic.

He supposed Fidgety Man _did_ look exotic, even if it was in a completely different way than himself. Polishing off his beer, Raphael pushed away from the bar. With a conspirators’ wink to Casey, he ambled to the exotic fidgeter’s table.

“This seat taken?” Raphael purred. The rough edges of his voice smoothed as he slipped into the posher accent he tended to use around customers. He sat without waiting for an answer.

Fidgety Man regarded him for a moment before gesturing a welcome. Muscles bulged under his crisp linen shirt with the movement, hinting at strength Raph hadn’t noticed from across the room. His nose was long and straight over thin, slightly downturned lips. Up close, he didn’t seem so nervous. He just glanced at Raph every down and again and sipped his beer.

“What brings you here?” Raph asked, leaning back in his chair and stretching his thick legs. His ankle brushed against Fidgety Man’s and he felt him stiffen–just for a moment–before relaxing.

“Work,” he said, confirming Raph’s suspicion.

“Uh huh. Lookin’ for a free piece?”

Fidgety Man blinked. “Piece of what?”

Raph just stared, squinting as he tried to determine if Fidgety Man was being serious. His expression didn’t change from innocent confusion and Raph tilted his head back and laughed.

“Nothing, nothing,” he assured. “Don’t worry about it, Constable.”

Fidgety Man stiffened again and this time he did not relax until Raphael waved his hands dismissively. “Don’t worry–your secret’s safe with me. What’s your name?”

Fidgety Man sighed; he’d already been made. “Leonardo. Most people call me Leo.”

“Leo? That’s a helluva name, Constable. Where you from, anyway?”

“London.”

“No,” Raph countered. He brought his hands up and pulled on the corner of his eyes, lengthening them in a mockery of Leo’s slits. “Y’know.”

Leonardo’s face darkened. His mouth twisted into a frown. He repeated his answer, more forcefully this time. “I’m from London. And yourself? I did not realize ships were still coming in from the Gold Coast.”

Instead of being insulted, Raphael just laughed. “Oh, yeah. I was a special delivery.”

Leo’s frown morphed to a smirk. “I do not doubt it.” The animosity he’d felt at Raph’s tasteless question melted away. It was obvious the man meant no harm, and he’d taken Leo’s own slight with grace.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Raph chuckled. “Are you singing my song, Constable?”

 “I know the tune,” Leo said slyly.

Raphael looked him up and down, observing him in a new light now that he had an idea of the constable’s proclivities.  “Is that so? What music do you wan-”

“Not now,” Leo interrupted. “I’m working.”

Working. Right. What sort of business did the policeman have at The Ten Bells? Obviously it wasn’t a prostitution sting or Raph would already be in handcuffs, along with half the women in the place. Raph did not know what else there was to investigate in Whitechapel. Sure, there were ample robberies, muggings, the occasional rape or murder. Over the years the Met had shown it did not give a flying fuck about Whitechapel or the safety of its inhabitants. Division H was mostly for show and everyone knew it.

“Shall I leave you, then?” Raphael asked, leaning on his elbows to grin at Leonardo.

“Yes,” he replied. The swiftness of his answer cut. Raph swore there was a note of regret in his voice. Ever the professional, however, Raphael nodded and got up, trekking back to the bar and Casey’s eager face.

“Well?” Casey asked.

“Definitely a cop. Says he’s workin’.”

Casey’s eyes widened, taking in his mostly legitimate business. “Workin’? Here? I ain’t done nothin’!”

“Calm down, shite-for-brains. Don’t think he’s here for you. Somethin’ else.”

“What?”

Raphael shrugged his broad shoulders. “Didn’t say.”

Casey leaned close, dropping his voice to a hush. “Y’think it’s ‘bout Mary?”

Mary. Raphael hadn’t known her well, but news of her had travelled quickly through Whitechapel. Last Friday, in the early hours of the morning, someone had murdered her. Slit her throat clean through to the bone with two slices. Rumor had it that her stomach had been ripped open. Raph imagined a butcher’s bloody workroom with poor Mary’s intestines hanging like garlands from the meat hooks. He grimaced at his own morbid imagination and nodded to Casey.

“Maybe. Damn, nice to see someone givin’ a shite for once, eh?”

Before Casey could reply, Shadow joined them. The men steered the conversation to more appropriate topics. Raph followed the conversation without effort; Casey and Shadow were as close to family as he had. Shadow’s mum had died in childbirth a couple of years before Raph had entered the picture. He wasn’t her father, wasn’t romantically involved with Casey. Mostly, he was her promiscuous and _exotic_ uncle.

Raph kept an eye on the constable. He hadn’t moved from his seat near the door. He hadn’t finished his beer, either. It was merely a prop as he vigilantly inspected the pub’s patrons. Every now and again, he’d catch Raph’s eye. The man would smile wide, sometimes wink, and Leo would look away in embarrassment. Raphael imagined the flushing man coming toe-to-toe with whatever monster had mutilated Mary–then he hoped that it would be someone else who would catch the madman, for Leo looked as though a strong enough storm gull could send him flying down the streets.

He had muscles–Raph had seen them up close. But he lacked the large, thick physique Raph proudly sported. In Raph’s opinion, anyone smaller than he was weaker. Leonardo was definitely smaller. What would he be like in a fight? Surely he knew how to handle one, if he was an officer of the law. Did the frumpy outfit he’d hopefully picked as a pauper’s disguise mask an unseen strength? Raph wanted to know. He wanted to know what he’d see when he unbuttoned the shirt, slid the faded fabric down Leo’s arms and…

“Allo? Raph, y’wit us, mate?”

“Eh?”

Shadow and Casey exchanged sly looks.

“Whatchu starin’ at, uncle Raph?”

Raph put his back to the constable, who was watching with interest. “None’a y’damn business, Shadow, that’s what. Doncha got a table to wipe or somethin’?”

A couple of years ago, Shadow would have stuck her tongue out at him. Now, she gave him a two-fingered salute.

Her father threw a rag at her. “Ayyy,” he griped, “Manners. Yer a lady, fer christsake!”

“Uncle Raph’s more’a lady than me,” she retorted. Raph threw the salute back at her as she trounced off to clear tables.

It was getting late. No potential customers had caught Raph’s eye, apart from Leonardo. He didn’t quite count, as Raph always gave coppers the first fuck free, and Leo had firmly established that he was Busy.

Raph glanced out the window, through the foggy streets. He let a small flat in the building adjacent to The Ten Bells. The building was squat brick latticed with rusting iron railings and walkways that went nowhere. It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, or even the nicest in Whitechapel, but the landlady was easygoing and didn’t care what Raph did so long as he paid on time. Besides, it was convenient to be so close to the pub. He only had to cross the street with a John, climb a few staircases, and it was business time.

“Say, Case.”

“Yeah?”

“Gimmie a rag. I’ll clean some tables and help Shadow put up the chairs.”

Casey eyed Raph suspiciously, but handed over the rag. “Y’never help us shut down.”

Raph shrugged. Most of the patrons had trickled out. Only the most persistent lushes remained glued to their benches, trying to wrestle one more round out of Casey. The winos and the constable.

“See y’finished yer beer,” Raph teased, plucking the glass from the table.

“See you’re using your real voice,” Leo responded, staring evenly at Raph.

Raph didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugged again. “Find what you was lookin’ for?”

No, he had not. He’d come to the pub in hopes of catching a lead in the Nichols murder, but nothing had come of the night. Truthfully, he didn’t know quite what he was looking for. He just hoped he’d know when he saw it.

Leo glanced to his left and right before speaking again in a lower voice. “Tell me, did you know Mary Nichols?”

“No,” Raph replied, dashing Leo’s hopes. “But I heard ‘bout ‘er and that sick fuck who cut ‘er up.”

Leo didn’t bother to correct Raph’s description of the murder. “Know anything about the ‘sick fuck’?”

“Sorry, Constable.”

Nothing. He’d had to beg to even observe the pub that evening. Nichols' murder wasn’t a high priority to the assistant chief constable and Leonardo’s failure to obtain any new information would not bode well for the continuation of the investigation. He sighed, nodding gravely.

“Say,” Raph said, breaking Leo out of his pessimistic thoughts. “Y’look like ya’ve had a hard day. Why doncha come home with me and relax a little?”

“Oh?” Leo countered, raising an eyebrow even as he smiled. “And how much will that cost me?”

“Free of charge, copper.”

Leo considered his bust of an evening. He considered the vast empty house waiting for him on Brook Street. Finally, he considered the handsome man grinning down at him, hand extended.

“Alright. Lead the way.”        


	2. The Red Room

Raphael’s entire room was red. Lush drapes cascaded towards a deep crimson throw-rug. Panels of silk hung from the walls, transforming the scuffed surface underneath into something elegant. Pops of gold and brass accented the room, just as Raphael’s golden eyes accented his dark hair and brown skin.  A fire crackled behind a screen, lit by some local urchin employed to keep it burning when Raph was away. The centerpiece to the extravagant room was a huge bed–bigger than any Leo had ever seen–covered with a deep red comforter. The pillowcases were numerous, silken, and burned like fire themselves in the hearth’s reflection.

“Heavens,” Leo exhaled. His companion grinned, sidestepping to allow Leo the lead. For a brief second, Leo considered sitting on the bed, but quickly discarded the idea as much too forward. Instead, he chose the crushed velvet chaise lounge near the fireplace. Raph shut the door and kicked off his shoes before unfastening the buttons of his shirt with deft hands. It hung open, exposing the hard muscles of his stomach and the teasing trail of black hair leading to the top of his trousers. The fire’s glow highlighted every curve of his muscles.

“What are you doing?” Leo asked, throat suddenly dry.

“Gettin’ comfortable. Feel free to do the same, Constable. Tea?”

“Wha– oh. Yes, please,” he responded automatically. Raph disappeared behind a silky panel, presumably to fetch a kettle. Leo waited, hands clasped in his lap as he perched on the edge of the chaise lounge.

“I’m not a constable, you know,” Leo called out as Raph rifled around behind the curtain.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

Raph emerged, heavy iron kettle in hand. He hung it on a hook, pushed it into the fire, then faced Leo. “Then what are ya?”

“Detective Inspector.”

"The hell’s that?”

“It’s…” Leo paused, then shook his head. “Just a rank. It does not matter.”

Steam whistled from the kettle’s spout and Raph swung it out of the fire. He prepared two cups of tea and sat them on the small table between Leonardo and the fireplace. Little bottles of cream, a bowl of sugar, and shining silver teaspoons adorned the dark lacquer tray. Raph sat next to Leo on the chaise lounge, gesturing to the tea tray.

“Cream, Constable?

A blush creeped up Leo’s collar and spread over his pale cheeks. “Yes, please.”

They sipped their tea in silence. Raphael slid closer and Leonardo slid away, flattening himself against the sofa’s headrest.  Raph’s skin smelled spicy sweet, like hot mulled cider with lingering notes of chocolate and coconut. His easy smile revealed strong, straight teeth with exaggerated canines.

“Do you file your teeth?” Leo blurted out.

“What?”

“Um, your teeth. They look like fangs.”

Raphael looked at Leo over the rim of his teacup. “They’re real. Eyes too, ‘fore ya ask.”

It was hard to believe eyes so golden were real, but Leonardo did not press. He sipped his tea in silence, staring into the fire, the cloth-covered walls, anywhere but at Raphael. Raphael was a very attractive man, but it’d been years since Leonardo had made love and even longer since he’d shared a bed with a man. He was sure he remembered how everything worked–it was quite intuitive, after all–yet he flushed and looked away when confronted with a man of Raphael’s extensive experience. Maybe going home with a prostitute hadn’t been the best decision. It had been an impulse, an emotional response to the night’s failure. Now that he was inside of Raphael’s room, drinking his tea and smelling his skin, Leonardo was not sure that he had made the right decision.

“I don’t bite, y’know,” Raph murmured, glancing at Leo’s uncomfortable face. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Leo answered quickly. Too quickly and Raphael stared at him until Leonardo sighed. “I am just… nervous. It has been a long time.”

Raph drank his tea thoughtfully, gazing into the fire. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ bein’ nervous, Constable,” he assured. “But we ain’t gotta do this if ya don’ wanna.”

“I want to!” Leo exclaimed. “I just… do not want you to think…” Leo paused, unsure of how to voice his thoughts. Raphael likely did not care one way or another how Leonardo felt. Offering free services to policemen was a business decision–it would garner Raphael extra protection, should he ever need it, and keep him out of jail.

“Oh, nevermind,” he said in the end. “It is all the same to you, is it not?”

Raphael’s eyes, which had been glittering mischievously, turned cold.

“Oh, um, I,” Leo stammered, “I did not mean… I, uh-”

“Forget it.”

Raph stood, slipping off his shirt entirely. He hung it on a hook near the fireplace, treating Leonardo to the full view of his strong, muscular back. It was not the first time a client had put his foot in his mouth. It happened all the time, literally and figuratively. He was well aware of society’s opinion of him and how he made his money. Even the men who filled his bed usually had a certain disdain for him.

By the time Raphael turned around, however, all traces of insult were gone. The easy smile had returned. “S’okay. Don’ worry ‘bout it.”

“I did not mean to insult you.”

Raphael shrugged his broad shoulders. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’ worry ‘bout it. I’m serious. ‘Sides, I’m more interested in somethin’ else.”

“What?”

“You. Whadda ya want, Constable? What ignites your passion?”

The mattress creaked under the handsome man’s bulk. Small hollows formed under his palms as he leaned back on them, fixing Leonardo with a penetrating stare and a rakish smile.

Leo considered. What ignited his passion? Tracking down criminals and putting them behind bars. Knowing that London might be a little safer the next day because of him. But that probably wasn’t the answer this man was seeking. As he mulled over the question, Leo realized he did not know the man’s name, and so he asked.

Raph quirked a brow. “My name ignites your passion?”

Leo’s flushed deepened and he shook his head. “No, I… what should I call you?”

“You can call me Adonis.”

“Adon…? That cannot be your actual name.”          

Raphael’s smile widened. “You can call me Adonis,” he repeated.

Leonardo resigned himself to it. Adonis it was. The name exchange had bought him a few seconds to consider the question, but he still drew a blank. Unsure of what to say, he spat out the first thing that came to mind.

“I’d like to penetrate you, Adonis.”

Mirth flickered through Raphael’s eyes. “Oh?”        

“Yes,” Leonardo confirmed, a bit more confident now that he had said it. Drawing to his feet, he took a few steps towards the bed. “If you would be agreeable to such an arrangement, that is.”

Spreading his thighs wide was Raphael’s reply. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Leonardo stepped between those legs and touched Raphael’s muscular shoulders. The skin was smooth and warm under his fingers. Sliding his palms down Raphael’s biceps, Leo traced the outline of his arms. Each passing moment relieved him of a little bit more hesitation so that when he finally reached Raphael’s wrists, he felt almost confident. And why should he not? Raphael had been nothing but _agreeable_ since he’d first plopped down at Leonardo’s table, obviously interested in him.

The interest was mutual. Leo leaned further over him, sliding their bodies flat against the mattress, then pinned Raphael’s wrists above his head. Raph gave no resistance. Thick muscles stretched, lengthening his naked torso against Leo’s clothed chest. Deep brown eyes gazed into fiery gold until, finally, Leo dipped his head and pressed their lips together.

In contrast to the hard lines of his body, Raphael’s lips were soft and supple. They parted immediately and Raph’s tongue darted out, shoving aggressively into Leo’s mouth. It traced over Leo’s teeth, rubbed his tongue, and poked into the far reaches of his mouth. While Raphael devoured his mouth, Leonardo dropped a hand between their bodies and unfastened Raph’s trousers. Raph tilted his hips upwards, making it easier for Leo to slide the pants off.

Raphael’s cock swelled, trapped betwixt their hard stomachs. Leonardo’s stirred to life as well, straining against the pouch of his trousers. Though the weeping member dotted his undergarments with moisture, he did not yet remove his pants. Pressure, accelerated by the friction of their bodies, mounted in his nether regions. Leo squirmed, sharp nails digging into Raph’s hipbone. He wanted nothing more than to flip Raphael over, spread the fleshy globes of his rear, and pound him into the bed. Somehow, it seemed a terribly impolite thing to do. Leonardo paused, easing his nails out of Raphael’s skin.

“S’wrong?” Raphael asked, his cheeks flushed under hazy eyes.

“I, uh,” Leonardo stammered, “I just… is this alright? Like this?”

Raphael stared at him long enough to make Leonardo glance away. Hastily, he drew back his hand from Raphael’s wrists and stood, smoothing the front of his shirt while pointedly ignoring the burgeoning erection tenting his trousers. “I apologize. I did not mean to-”

“Will ya shut up?”

In a flurry of activity, Raph sprang from the back and pushed Leonardo aside with a grumble. He crossed to a small nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. It held standard items: a silver-backed hand mirror, a kerosene lamp, and a small box of richly polished wood. He picked up the box and returned to the bedside, where he glared down his nose at Leonardo.

“Siddown.”

Leonardo sat.

Before him, Raphael stood naked. His thick, dark cock jutted proudly from between his muscular legs. Flicking the brass clasp, he opened the box. A filmy pink tube with a thin black ribbon at one end laid nestled in dark velvet. It was a curious object, one that Leonardo had never seen before.  

“Take yer pants off, Constable. I ain’t got all night.”

Eyes cast to the floor, Leonardo slid out of his pants. They pooled around his ankles as Leo cupped his hands in his lap, shielding his erection from view. Growling gutturally–a low, primal sound which caused gooseflesh to ripple Leo’s milky skin–Raph shoved him. Hard. Caught off balance, Leo careened backward, legs flying into the air, and crashed into the mattress. His pants hung from his ankle like a flag of surrender. Raphael snatched them away, tossing the trousers over his shoulder, and pounced on Leonardo. Wind whooshed out of Leo’s lungs in response to the sudden weight atop him. He gasped, gripping at Raph’s arms, and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. 

 _Stop_ , one might have said. _Wait, I am not ready._ These thoughts did not enter Leonardo’s mind. His legs parted in accommodation and Raphael squeezed between them. He kissed Leo deeply, nipping at his lips, thrusting his tongue down his throat, then sat back on his heels between Leonardo’s thighs. With practiced hands, Raphael fit the shiny tube over Leo’s turgid cock. The ribbons he wrapped around the base of the shaft and then swooped under his ball sack, where he tied a small bow. It was a strange business, alien to his body, yet Leonardo did not protest. It felt good for Raphael to touch his dick, felt good to have the black ribbon tightened around his balls.

Leaning across the bed, Raph quickly opened the nightstand’s shallow drawer and withdraw a small bottle. The viscous gel ran sluggishly down his fingers like honey from a waxy comb. Leonardo stared until Raphael brought his coated hand to Leo’s member and rubbed. Then his mouth popped open, his head fell back to the pillow, and he resumed memorizing Raphael’s ceiling.

Placing a thick thigh on either side of Leonardo, Raphael positioned himself over his cock. One hand rested lightly on Leonardo’s chest for balance while the other worked between them, holding Leonardo’s dick steady so that Raphael could mount it. After a few fumbles, a few missed pokes, it slid in. Like steam escaping a radiator, Raphael hissed until his rear met Leonardo’s hips.

“Oh,” Leonardo groaned, hands stuttering to Raphael’s legs. “Oh.”

“That all ya got t’say?”

Leonardo’s head dipped and bobbed affirmative. His hands pet over Raphael’s dark thighs as though he could not believe they were real. How quickly this had happened. It could not have been more than a half hour, an hour, since he’d let Raphael take his hand and lead him across the street from the Ten Bells. Leonardo was sure that if he relinquished his grip on Raphael’s legs, he would soon wake up in his own bed with the sheets twisted around his sweaty body and a shameful mess between his thighs–and that Raphael would be but a beautiful dream.

So Leonardo gripped Raphael’s legs tightly when he bounced on his cock. He cut crescents into the smooth flesh when Raphael threw his head back, dark locks bursting around his face like a lion’s mane. He drew blood when Raph’s pace grew more erratic, when he caught his plump lip between his teeth and hunched, spilling hot seed over Leo’s stomach with low, shuddering gasps. It was only then that Leonardo let go of Raphael’s thighs. Blood swiped over his hips as Leonardo grabbed them, holding Raphael steady so he could thrust once, twice, and echo Raphael’s orgasm. Eyes snapping shut, he groaned at the warmth pooling in his gut. It seemed to flow out of him, passing into Raphael’s body, leaving him cooler once it had passed, tired, but content.

Breathy pants were their shared language. Palms flat on Leonardo’s chest, Raphael lifted on his knees and slowly pulled his hips away. Leo’s cock slapped wetly against his stomach, unbelievably loud in the red room. If Raphael noticed, however, he paid it no mind. Lounging beside Leonardo, Raphael carefully untied the pink tube and slid it from Leonardo’s softening cock. Cradling it carefully in his hands, Raph disappeared behind the curtain. When he reemerged a few seconds later, it was gone.

“What was that?” Leo asked, sitting on his elbows.

Raphael crawled back into the bed, a coy smile settled between his cheeks. He kissed Leonardo’s lips, his earlobe, his throat. “What was what?”

“That thing,” he murmured, eyes closing as Raphael continued to pepper kisses over his body. “That thing that you put on my… that thing.”

Chuckling, Raphael nipped Leo’s throat. “A condom. ‘Posed to keep things neat ‘n proper. Thought you’d appreciate that.”

Flushing, Leonardo nodded. He asked no more questions and simply submitted to Raphael’s kisses. His fingers curled idly in the fleecy hair above Raphael’s soft cock. Sneaking a downward glance, he thought it was just as attractive resting against Raphael’s thigh as it had been standing stiffly in the air. The flaccid cock, however, Leonardo took as a sign that perhaps he was overstaying his welcome. 

“Well,” Leonardo murmured, drawing his hand away. “Um, thank you, Adonis.”

The man chuckled and rolled away. Throwing on a satin robe camouflaged against the wall panels, he smiled. “My pleasure. Come by anytime, Constable.”


End file.
